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Patricia FumertonEarly Modern Center - English DepartmentUniversity of CaliforniaSanta Barbara, CA 93105United States of AmericaEMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R2273831NONEMardykeWHen first Mardike was made a Prey, / 'Twas Courage that carry'd the Fort away,
Information in this section of the Source Description
refers to the original ballad manuscript.
1: 338The Soldiers Fortune: / OR, / The Taking of MARDIKE.The Soldiers Fortune: OR, The Taking of MARDIKE.The Soldier's Fortune: OR, The Taking of MARDIKE.1672-1672P. Brooksby

WHen first Mardike was made a Prey,Twas Courage that carryd the Fort away,Then to not lose your Valors Prize,By gazing on your Mistress Eyes;But put off your Petticoat-Parley;Potting and sotting, and laughing and quaffing Canary,Will make a good Soldier miscarry,And never Travel for true Renown:Then turn to your Martial Mistress,Fair Minerva the Soldiers Sister is;Rallying & sallying, with gashing & slashing of Wounds, Sir,With turning and burning of Towns, Sir,Is a high step to a great Mans Throne.

Let bold Bellonas Brewer frown,And his Tun shall overflow the Town;And give the Cobler Sword and Fate,And a Tinker may trappan the State:Such fortunate Foes as these be,Turnd the Crown to a Cross at Naseby:Father and Mother, and Sister and Brother confounde[d]And many a good family woundedBy a terrible Turn of Fate.He that can kill a Man, thunder and plunder the Tow[n,] Si[r,]And pull his Enemies down, Sir,In time may be an Officer great.

It is the Sword dos order all,Makes Peasants rile and Princes fall;All Syllogisms in vain are spilt,No Logick like a Basket-Hilt;It handles em joynt by joynt, Sir;Quilling & drilling and spilling and killing profoundly,Until the Disputers on Ground lie,And have never a word to say:Unless it be quarter, quarter, truth is confuted by a Carter,By stripping & nipping, & ripping & quipping Evasions,Doth Conquer a power of Perswasions,Aristotle hath lost the Day.The Musket bears so great a Force,To Learning it has no remorse;The Priest, the Lay-man, and the Lord,Find no distinction from the Sword;Tan tarra, Tan-tarra, the Trumpet,Has blown away Babylons Strumpet:Now the Walls begin to crack,The Counsellors are struck dumb too;By the Parchment upon the Drum too;Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, an Alarum,Each Corporal now can out-dare em,Learned Littleton goes to rack.Then since the Sword so bright doth shine,Well leave our Wenches and our Wine,And follow Mars where eer he runs,And turn our Pots and Pipes to Guns:The Bottles shall be Granados,Well bounce about the Bravados,By huffing and puffing, and snuffing and cuffing the French, Boys,Whose Brows has been dyd in a Trench, Boys;Well-got Fame is a Warriors Wife,The Drawer shall be the Drummer,Well be Collonels all next Summer;By hilting and tilting, and pointing and joynting like brave Boys,We shall have Gold, or a Grave, Boys,And theres an end of a Soldiers Life.